


Picking Up the Pieces

by CaptainPeggyCarter21



Series: Where Do We Go From Here [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Binge Drinking, Comfort/Angst, Coping, Drinking, Drinking Games, Drinking to Cope, Drunk Sex, Drunken Kissing, F/M, Hurt Steve Rogers, One Night Stands, One Shot, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prequel, Psychological Trauma, Sex, Smut, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25255720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainPeggyCarter21/pseuds/CaptainPeggyCarter21
Summary: It opens immediately after The Snap, then jumps ahead to after the Thanos mission. Reader runs the Stark Relief Foundation and finds herself coping at the bar with Steve.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Series: Where Do We Go From Here [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829704
Kudos: 33





	Picking Up the Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to Burn the Ships (as promised)  
> *Smut ahead* not too graphic, but definitely not vague

_Sirens fill the air. The sounds of shattering glass and crumbling concrete settle into the chaos. The phone ringing in your ear is a bittersweet distraction. Your building miraculously remained intact. You bite your nails as you stare out the floor to ceiling windows at the flames licking up the side of the office building across the street. You don’t know how it happened. You don’t really care. You can see a bus sticking out of the side of the corner diner. Traffic is a mangled hunk of crushed metal and people._

_“Clint, fuck,” you gasp. “Thank God. No one else is answering. Do you have any idea where anyone else is?”_

_“No, I-” His voice is cold and distant. “I don’t know what happened. I was- Lila was just here. And Laura and-”_

_“Shit.” You turn around the conference room. Alone. Anyone who was still there when their coworkers disintegrated made a beeline for the door. “Clint, I- I’m sorry.”_

_“They’re gone.” His statement is hollow. “I don’t know what happened, but they’re gone."_

_“I’m not sure either.” You drag a hand down your face. “A lot of people are gone.”_

_“Call Steve.” And the line goes silent._

_“Great idea, Clint,” you mutter to yourself, voice growing to a yell. “If only I’d fucking thought of that!”_

_You immediately dial Pepper’s number. No answer, so you redial and redial again. Finally, you hear her breathless greeting._

_“Thank God.” You take a deep breath. “Pep, Tony isn’t answering.”_

_“He’s a little out of the service area.” She lets out a whimper. “I hope.”_

_“No, no, no.” You run your hand through your hair and glance at a pile of ash. “He didn’t get on that sh-”_

_“Of fucking course, he did,” she yells. “I don’t know what to do.”_

_“There’s a lot of that going around.” Your fingers trail through the dust. “I got to go.”_

_You don’t wait for her response before hanging up. Tony’s gone. Clint’s out of commission. Steve and company are MIA. Your legs shake as you stumble into the wall._

_“What the fuck is happening?” you breathe, sliding to the floor. “What the fuck?”_

_You wrap your arms around yourself, leaning your head against the wall. This isn’t real. It can’t be._

___

You exit the elevator and trudge through the main lounge. That’s where Tony kept the good booze. You walk through the door, surprised to find Steve hunched over the bar top. He still has on his royal blue rash guard and uniform pants from the mission.

“Tony’s awake.” Your voice is flat.

He nods, not even glancing over his shoulder. “Good.” He throws his head back, finishing his drink. “That’s good. Sure he doesn’t want to see me, though.”

You take the stool beside him and let out a dry laugh. “Using your super-perception?”

“Common sense.” He leans over the counter and picks up another glass, setting it in front of you. “I’d hate to send him back into shock.”

“Steve, that wasn’t-”

“I know.” He fills your glass with top shelf bourbon. “Just trying to lighten the mood, I guess.”

“You gave it a fair swing.” You smile into your glass.

Silence sits heavily between you. Both of you staring into your drinks, neither of you even taking a peek at the other. You take the bottle from Steve and refill your glass.

“You-” You let out a shaky breath. “You’re going to fix it, right?”

He drains his glass and raps his knuckles on the counter before refilling his glass and draining it again. He tosses his head with a hiss. “Honestly, we just played our last card.”

“No,” you breathe, eyes snapping to his face, “you – you’re an Avenger – _the_ Avenger. This is what you do.”

“We’re out of options.” He fills his glass and tops yours off without looking at you. “There’s no new plan, and I don’t have even an inkling of an idea.”

“Steve,” you watch his fingers circle the top of his glass, “the Director’s gone.”

His knowing eyes meet yours. “I’m sorry.”

“I now run _the_ most expansive relief organization on the planet.” Your voice shakes as you continue. “Which is daunting enough under normal circumstances.”

“Tell me about it.” He raises his glass and takes another sip.

You set your jaw. “Right now, I’m more powerful than the President.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I know.”

After downing his drink, he finally looks up, meeting your wide eyes.

“So,” you take a long swallow from your glass, “this is it?”

“I wish I had another answer for you.” He shakes his head. “Really fucking wish I did.”

You rest your hand on top of his. “You did more than any of us possibly could.”

He nods, lifting the cup to his lips. You notice the red rim around his eyes and wonder if it’s the loss or the liquor. He clears his throat and takes another drink.

“They’re gone.”

“Tony’s never going to get over Peter.” You pinch the bridge of your nose.

He closes his eyes slowly and draws a deep breath. “Has anyone told his aunt?”

You shake your head. “No need.”

“Shit,” he whispers. “T’challa's gone. Sam too. And-” He drops his head and drags his hand through his hair.

“My roommate,” you add. “My assistant, head of logistics, most of my security detail.”

You both fall into a heavy, though comfortable silence. Three weeks of mind-numbing pain take their toll. You train your eyes on your swirling glass, the amber liquid nearly sloshing over the edges. Steve stares at the wall of bottles behind the bar. You both lost so much and shoved it all so far down for so long. His harsh sniff draws you out of your head. His distant eyes well up, tears threatening to spill over. You hardly recognize each other with your stoic, confident masks crumbling to pieces. Exhaustion and defeat breaks through the cracks.

“I lost Bucky.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Again.”

“Steve,” your voice cracks.

That’s the third time, now. Fourth if you count cryo in Wakanda. Fifth if you count Azzano. Your own eyes cloud over as you run through the faces of people you lost. Friends, coworkers, former classmates, even distant acquaintances. You drop your face into your hands, shoulders shaking.

“Hey, come here.” Steve’s voice is gruff as he pulls you into his chest. “It’ll be alright. I don’t know how, but we’ll figure it out.”

You curl your fingers into his shirt, tugging at the fabric. “Steve,” you choke out, “I don’t know-”

“It’s alright,” he soothes resting his cheek on top of your head. He tightens his grip around your back. “I don’t either.”

“I watched them,” you gasp. “They just- they just – oh, God.”

Steve nods, resting his chin on your head. “He was right in front of me. I tried to grab him,” he chokes. “Like it would’ve changed a goddamn thing. Like I could’ve stopped it.”

Steve tries to hold it together. You hear the choking sounds in his throat. Your damp hair gives away his tears, an occasional stray drop falling over your forehead. As your shudders ease, you flatten your palms against Steve’s chest. When he straightens up, clearing his throat, you lean back and cup his face in your hands. You search his puffy eyes and lick your lips. Tapping his cheek, you offer a half smile and turn your eyes to the ceiling, squelching the rest of your tears.

“Can we just – can we pretend the last month never happened, and it’s just a Friday night, and we’re meeting up after a rough week?” Your eyes mist over as they search his. “And the whole world isn’t waiting for me and you to put it back together? Just for tonight.”

Steve clears his throat. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard since the Accords.”

You stand and skirt around the bar to stand behind the counter. You set two shot glasses on the bar top and turn to skim the shelves. “Know any drinking games, Captain Rogers?”

“Just drinking as much as fast as we could.” He shrugs. “That quarter game, we had a version of that.”

“That settles it.”

You grab a bottle of beer from the cooler and pop the top on the edge of the counter. You roll the cap between your fingers and press the bottle to your lips. After a small sip, you slide the bottle to Steve and fill the shot glasses with the remaining bourbon.

“Finish that up.” Your eyes flick to the beer in Steve’s hand. “You need a good head start. Then we’ll play.”

Steve tips the bottle up, chugging the rest. Slamming it down, he holds out his open hand. You press the bottle cap into his palm and slide an empty shot glass between you. After twenty minutes and several shots each, you switch to flip cup.

“This one is a race, Steve,” you giggle. “Maybe you’ll be better at it.”

“What are you getting at” He takes his final shot.

“Super speed, right?” You raise an eyebrow and pour whiskey into a dozen plastic cups.

He smirks, “Something like that.”

You slide the cups to the edge of the counter and make your way around the bar. Steve divides the drinks in half and waits for you to settle beside him.

“You understand the rules?” You grin.

He nods and sinks into a focused crouch. His shirt clings to his muscles, showcasing his pure strength.

You snicker at his antics and face the drinks. “Your mark, Cap.”

When he yells “go,” you both lunge forward, downing the first cup. You hiss and shake your head before flipping your cup. Steve is already lifting his second drink. You’re both tipsy enough to send cups flying in every direction. The humor of the game distracts you both from the weight of your new reality. When your fourth cup hits Steve in the nose, you collapse against the bar in fits of laughter. He calmly finishes his last drink and turns the cup upside down, glaring at you.

“I win,” he pants, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Finish your drinks.”

He extends a hand and pulls you up. You stagger to your feet, landing against his chest. He wraps his arm around your waist, stumbling back, and chuckles into your hair. You push away from him and lean against the bar.

“I believe,” you sway as you lift your cup, “you’re handling your liquor much better than I am, Captain.”

“If I take another shot, would that make you happy?” He steadies you with a hand on your back.

You narrow your eyes at him, finishing your last drink. “Two.”

He pours and downs two shots and raises his eyebrows at you, leaning heavily on the bar. “What’s next?”

You level your eyes with his. “Dirty Pint?”

“I’m sorry?” he chuckles.

You stumble around the bar and begin pulling bottles from the shelves. You pour a shot of each into a pint glass until it’s full nearly to the brim. You fish the bottle cap out of a glass and eye Steve.

“Heads or tails?” You flip the cap into the air and watch it fall.

“Tails.”

As it spins on the counter, you hold your breath.

“Oh, thank fuck.” You let out the breath when the cap lands right side up. “All yours.”

He takes the glass reluctantly and holds it out before taking a sip. His eyes glitter at your amused expression. The hazy lighting blurs everything but Steve, giving him an enchanting glow.

“Bottoms up,” you grimace.

Slamming the glass down, he swallows hard before coughing and sticking his tongue out. “Fuck, that was awful.”

“Think you’re on my level now,” you mumble. “Shots.”

Steve moves the shot glasses toward you and nods. You take another whiskey bottle from the shelf and fill each glass. “Let’s make it interesting.”

Steve raises an eyebrow.

“A little game of bullshit.” The wrinkles in his forehead deepen. “I tell you a secret, and you have to guess if it’s true. Loser takes a shot.”

He nods slowly and drags his shot glass across the counter. “Okay, shoot.”

You run your tongue across your teeth, humming quietly. “I’m adopted.”

“We all know that’s true,” he scoffs, leaning back.

A smirk spreads over your face. “Drink.”

His mouth drops open. “No, no, no. You were-”

“I was never adopted.” You tap the counter next to his shot glass.

“Well, fuck.” He holds the glass out and tosses his head back. “My turn?”

You nod, pouring him another shot.

“I have an art degree.”

You consider the sketchbooks you’ve seen in his apartment and the paintings on the walls. “True.”

He shakes his head, nudging your glass toward you. “Dropped out when the war started.”

As the night wears on, you learn several more shocking secrets about each other, and a few more mundane facts. Steve’s first job was a newspaper boy. You once shaved the neighbor’s cat on a dare. Birds weird Steve out. You played the clarinet in middle school. Bucky convinced Steve to bring him to art class as a model.

You take your shot, cackling. “Did you paint him like one of your French girls, Steve?”

He pinches his eyebrows together but can’t stop himself from laughing along. Steve calls your bluff about modeling nude for an art class in grad school but takes a shot to learn the name of the Art History major who had the pleasure. Peggy caught Steve lip locked with some high-level secretary. The questions get racier as the liquor goes down.

“I slept with Tony.” Your glassy eyes meet his.

Steve pauses, eyes clearing while he groans. “Please be a lie.”

You raise your eyebrows and push a shot glass toward him.

“Fuck. Really?” He shakes his head before swallowing the gulp of whiskey.

“Let’s call it desperation and move on.”

He smiles, slurring his words. “Peggy was my first.”

You scoff, “Tony was not- oh. Oh shit.” You grin. “I’m pretty sure the entire country knows that’s true.”

“Drink.”

Your jaw drops. “Little Steve had some game?”

“Some,” he chuckles. “Exactly three nights worth.”

“Who?” You set your glass down much harder than you meant to.

“Girl from my art class, and it’s going to cost you another shot.” He slides his glass across the counter. “High school valedictorian.” As you tip the glass up, Steve gives you a devilish grin. “And Bucky’s cousin.”

You cough, spraying whiskey over the bar. “What?”

Steve’s eyes glimmer. “He wasn’t real happy about it.” He wobbles as he stands to get a towel.

“Jesus, Steve.” You grin so wide your cheeks hurt.

After mopping up the counter, he rests his elbows on top. “Your turn.”

You chew on your bottom lip, clumsily refilling your shots. When you plant your hands on the counter, you lock eyes with Steve, wiggling your eyebrows.

“You look ridiculous,” he laughs.

“Stop it,” you snicker, unsuccessful in your attempt to control yourself. With a deep breath, you compose yourself. “I used to be a dominatrix.”

He studies your face, squinting into your eyes. “No way.”

A lopsided smile spreads on your face, Steve’s flushed face goes pale.

He swallows his whiskey and groans. “Peggy talked me into a threesome.”

You bite the tip of your tongue, eyes glinting. “I can definitely see that.”

“Fuck.” Steve cradles his head in a hand, reaching for the shot glass. “I don’t remember ever being this drunk, even when I was half your size.”

“That’s why you don’t remember it, Rogers,” you giggle. “I’ll settle for you taking your shirt off.”

He stares at you, eyes widening slowly.

“Come on, Steve,” you beg. “I just want to look.”

“What the hell,” he sighs and pulls his shirt over his head.

You lose your breath at the sight of his chiseled chest. He grins back, oblivious to your rising heartrate. You swallow hard and nod, signaling him to take a turn.

A few questions later, the whiskey bottle is empty and Steve is left in his rash guard shorts. You sway in your bra and jeans, picking out a new drink. You take a handle of tequila and two lime wedges. Setting them both on the bar top, you grab the bowl of salt and return to Steve’s side, gripping the edge of the counter for balance. You pour the shots and look at Steve.

You lick the back of your hand and sprinkle it with salt. He pinches his eyebrows together, watching you pick out a lime wedge. You make a show of licking the salt, taking the shot, and biting your lime. He scoffs and shakes his head.

“If that’s how you want to do it, doll.” He turns to you and holds out his hand. “Show me.”

You lick the back of his hand, watching his reaction through your eyelashes. His already flushed cheeks turn crimson as his breath hitches. After sprinkling the salt on, you raise his hand to his face. He tosses the tequila back and opens his eyes to see you holding a lime in front of his face.

“See,” his lips brush your fingers as he bites the lime, “not how I remember Peg teaching me in France.”

You tilt your head, heat coursing through your veins from the touch of his lips. “What do you remember?”

“I don’t know,” his sly grin steals your breath. “She probably wouldn’t like me showing you.”

“Probably wouldn’t like seeing you shitfaced either.” You give him a once over. “I think we’re past Peggy.”

Leaning over the bar to pick out more limes, he gives you an excellent view of his musculature. You draw your bottom lip between your teeth watching his abs ripple with every movement. He turns back to you, goofy grin in place, blush deepening, and pours a shot.

He tips your head to the side and rubs the lime up your neck. “Open.”

You drag your bottom lip between your teeth before opening your mouth. His fingers skim across your cupid's bow as he wedges the slice of lime in your teeth.

Layering salt over your neck, he glances at you, watching your pupils dilate. Holding you by the chin, he draws his tongue up your neck. You can’t help but smile at the chills he leaves behind. After taking the shot, his eyes land on your mouth for the lime.

The second your lips touch, Steve’s hands at your waist pull you closer. Your hands linger at his hips, grazing his soft skin with your fingertips. His tongue traces the curve of your lips, sending your head reeling. When he finally sinks his teeth into the skin of the lime, you pull away gasping for air. You grin up at him, plucking the lime from between his teeth.

“Captain America did body shots?” You lean back, falling against the bar.

He catches you with a hand at your waist. “Pour another, and I’ll show you a body shot,” he says, voice husky.

When you top off the shot glass, you turn back around, jumping at Steve’s sudden proximity. He wraps his hands around your arms, licking up your chest, and leaves a trail of salt. Tracing his tongue up the same trail, he takes the glass from the counter, swallowing hard. You fumble with the container of limes behind the bar when Steve grabs your chin.

“Forget the fucking lime.” His lips collide with yours before you can disagree.

Your fingers knot in his short hair as he lifts you onto the counter. Your mouths press together, tongues tangling sloppily. His hands roam your body, exploring every inch of exposed skin and quickly dipping under the back of your waistband. The room swirls as you gasp for air, chest heaving against Steve’s.

Muted liquor stings your nose with every hoarse gasp. Your senses swim in alcohol, suspending reality around you. Steve’s warmth is the only feeling on your skin aside from the electric thrill shooting out from his touch. Your jumbled thoughts battle for your attention. Your mind races from Tony to work to loss to Steve. You always land on Steve and the knot of need in your stomach.

You lock your ankles around his back when he sways, and he grasps tightly onto your hips. His nip at your neck, steals your last breath and leaves you moaning for more. You toss your head back and brace yourself against the counter, knocking an empty whiskey bottle over. A swallow of liquor splashes at Steve’s feet as shards of glass spray across the floor.

“You’re going to tear the house down,” Steve pants, lifting you from the marble.

You grind your hips against his, growling. “You have no idea.”

He stumbles, slamming your back against the wall. “You can’t fucking talk like that.” His husky whisper tickles at your ear.

The world tumbles before it fades away. You bring Steve’s face back to yours and tug his bottom lip between your teeth, heat building in your core. His fingers dig into your thighs, his hips pinning you tightly to the wall. Your teeth collide with every kiss, both your depth perceptions completely distorted. Your nails dig into his back, and his stubble scratches along your chest and cleavage.

“Are you going to take me to bed?” You arch your back off the wall, leaning into Steve’s chest. “Or does Captain America always fuck in the living room?”

Steve braces himself against the wall, one hand on either side of your head, breathing heavily. “When I get my legs back under me.”

As evidence, his head falls, knocking into your cheek. You both let out a chuckle, and he hoists you up and carries you down the hall. His fingers work at the hooks of your bra, dropping it to the floor as he kicks his door shut. You paw at his shorts, wiggling them over his hips, and he steps out of them as he drops you onto the bed. His hungry eyes scan your body, drinking in the sheen coating your skin.

The heat of his gaze has you writhing on his bed, twisting your fingers into his sheets. “Steve,” you whine desperately.

With a faint smirk, he turns his attention to your jeans, popping the button easily. His speed and strength consume the last of your attention. When his hands skim up your curves, you nearly come undone in his arms. You drag him to the bed and roll on top of him, turning his chortle into a throaty gasp. Your lips twitch into a devious grin, and your hands spread over Steve’s chiseled muscles.

“The things I’ve wanted to do to you.” Your eyes spark.

Steve’s shoulders pinch together, arching his back off the mattress. You grind your hips down, rubbing yourself against his thigh, and moan at the friction.

He bucks his hips, your name falling from his lips, and flips you over. His hand wraps around your thigh, hitching your knee up to his hip, and lines himself up. Your quiet whimper stops him from pressing fully into you. His brow furrows, and he studies your face.

“I’m fine,” you breathe. “Just dehydrated.”

His breathing hitches, and he pulls away, sliding down your body. He drops a kiss under your belly button and brushes his lips down your stomach. You buck your hips to meet his lips and whine out a stream of curses with his name somewhere in the middle. He hums his appreciation against your thigh and runs his tongue along your folds.

“Jesus Christ.” Heat pools in your core, and you grind your hips down.

He sinks his teeth into your thigh, groaning when you suck in a raspy breath. As he climbs back over you, you push him over and settle on top of him.

“Better?” Steve sighs as you ease yourself down onto him, and swallows hard. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“Three weeks sweeping up a global genocide doesn’t leave much room for recreation.” You clench your thighs around Steve’s waist and gasp when he flinches. “God, Steve.”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Super-soldier, remember?”

You let out a slow moan, tossing your head back. “God bless America.”

“I think you’re missing a ‘Captain,’” he chuckles, running his hands up your sides to your breasts.

You whimper at him and roll your hips. A shadow falls over Steve’s eyes, making your heart race. Heat rushes to your face, and your pulse beats between your legs. Steve’s hips grind into yours, brushing against your clit. Your eyes roll, jumbled thoughts spinning faster.

“Fuck me,” you rake your fingers down Steve’s chest, “Captain.”

He pulls himself up to lean against the headboard, nudging at your sweet spot. You fall forward breathless and drop your head to Steve’s shoulder. He growls into your ear and lifts your hips, easing out. When you whimper at the loss, he nips along your collarbone and thrusts back into you. The coil in your belly tightens, and your muscles tense. He grins, pressing into you again, and brings a hand between your legs to rub soft circles over your clit.

You gasp erratically, reality flickering away. “If you keep doing that – I’m going to –”

Steve grabs at your ass, using the leverage to deepen his thrusts and knocking you off balance. You brace yourself against the headboard, rutting your hips against him and bursting the tension in your muscles. You bite back a squeal, groaning into the crook of Steve’s neck instead. Your hands fall to his shoulders, digging crescents into his skin, and your hair tickles your cheek.

His grip tightens, and his hands run up your back, sending chills down your spine. Your muscles tense under his fingertips, his relentless pace winding you back up. He wraps your hair around his hand and tilts your head back, attacking your neck. His cool inhale blows over your sweat-slickened skin, and tingles dance down your chest. You take his head between your hands and pull his face to yours, leaving a hot kiss on his mouth.

Steve lurches to meet your lips, parting them hungrily. His tongue darts over your lips and dips into your mouth before he bites your bottom lip. You groan into his mouth, muscles weakening by the second, the tangle of need tightening in your hips. His lips trail down your neck to your collarbone and across your breasts.

You drop your head back and drive your hips into his, panting. “Fuck. Don’t stop.”

The fluid movements of your hips turn to erratic jolts and involuntary bucks. Your face tightens with the coil deep in your stomach. Steve’s arms wrap around your back, pressing you to his chest, and bites into the crook of your neck. The warmth of his skin on yours leaves your head a chaotic mess.

With another thrust, you come undone, collapsing into his steady embrace. Your deep breath fans over his shoulder, and your eyes flutter closed. As the room settles, Steve nips at your earlobe. He sends the world spinning again as he flips you to your back.

“Steve,” you choke, arching off the mattress, “I can’t – fuck _yes._ ”

He hooks his elbows under your knees and snaps your hips together. “Think you got one more for me?”

“Bite me again.” You squirm under him, moaning with every movement.

Steve grins, turning his head, and presses his lips to your calf. His teeth scrape over your skin before digging into your muscle. The gentle ache spreads over your leg, pulling another groan from your chest. You press your hands into the headboard and brace yourself against his pounding. His powerful legs slam his hips to yours with staggering force. His strong hands dig into your flesh, and he grits his teeth, tossing his head to the side. He bites into your other calf with surprising tenderness.

He plunges into you forcefully, tipping you over the edge once more. As the room crashes down, Steve’s grip around your thighs tighten and his strained grunts filter into your hazy mind until everything goes quiet. You stretch your stiff legs and curl them carefully around Steve. When you open your bleary eyes, his goofy grin hovers over you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, dropping his forehead to yours.

You chuckle and pat his cheek. “You’re adorable.”

He leans in, but you turn away, and his lips brush over your cheek, leaving a light kiss in their wake.

“Don’t,” you whisper.

After carefully untangling your legs, he drops onto the bed beside you still breathing heavy. “I must have been doing something wrong before.”

You shrug. “Well, you did it very right just now.”

“My head is still spinning.”

“You’re just drunk,” you cackle.

“That’s new.” He hums an agreement, glancing around the room. “I don’t even know whose suite this is anymore.”

You swat his chest and raise an eyebrow. “Steven Rogers, did you just fuck me in someone else’s bed?”

“It used to be mine,” he says, holding up his hands. “I don’t know what I was thinking – really wasn’t, I guess.”

“You’ve never gotten plastered and hooked up with a stranger. Have you?”

“I –” He closes his mouth. “Not since I had bronchitis _and_ strep throat.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound smart.”

“Bucky had a theory that a couple shots of vodka would kill the virus.” He shrugs. “And Bucky’s cousin insisted on keeping an eye on me all night.”

“I guess that’s close enough to a stranger.” You shake your head. “You were always good weren’t you?”

He quirks up an eyebrow. “Good at?”

“Being good.” You smack his arm. “Thoughtful, kind…”

“Well, she came down with strep, so,” he shrugs at you, “I guess not too good.”

“That was her choice to make, and you know it.”

His chest rumbles under you with a silent laugh. “I take it you have more experience with drunken hookups than me.”

“It’s fun.” You smirk and wiggle your eyebrows mockingly. “Especially for someone who can’t contract diseases.”

“I don’t think I –”

“My only point was,” you groan, turning onto your side, “it’s not the first strange bed I’ve been in.”

His smile fades as he rolls on his side to face you. “You’re smart, at least, right?”

“Yes, dad.” You roll your eyes

“I’m just saying, this super-soldier thing isn’t contagious,” he says with a chuckle. “ _You_ can still get –”

“I’m careful, Steve.” You pat his chest and pull into him shivering.

He wraps his arms around you and rolls onto his back with you on top of him. “I forget what a normal metabolism is like sometimes.”

You snuggle under the blanket Steve covers you with and rub your feet up his legs, snickering. “You’re still wearing socks.”

“My attention was elsewhere.” He watches you rise and fall with his chest.

“And I’m very glad.” You sigh and let your eyes flutter shut.

He wriggles under you and tosses his socks against the wall, somehow managing not to disturb you in the process. You settle against him, absently tracing shapes over his skin. His chest heaves under you, slowly steadying into a peaceful rhythm. As your eyelids droop, you suck in a sharp breath.

“Steve?”

His chest vibrates with a hum. His eyes don’t open.

“I’m going to need a lot of help.” You rest your chin on his collarbone and watch his face.

His lips barely move. “For the next six hours, this month didn’t happen remember?”

“Steve, please.”

Your desperation draws his attention, and he turns onto his side, sliding you off his chest. “You know I’ll help however I can.”

You nod slowly. “What if that means handling a whole state?”

“Sounds easier than saving the world.” His lips twitch into a smile.

“Yeah.” You let out breath as you turn over and nuzzle back against him. “Then let’s go back in time again.”

His nose skims through your hair as he snickers. “Happy birthday, kid. Sorry I’m late.”

“Better than never.” Your throat closes as you flash back to a week before Thanos and a week after the surprise party Tony threw at the compound.

_You walk into your apartment, exhausted from conference calls and donor meetings. Your heart stops when you see a silhouette staring out your living room window. When he turns around, you almost collapse._

_“Steve!” You drop your backpack and rush across the room._

_“Happy birthday, kid.” His arms fold around your back. “Sorry I’m late.”_

_“Better than never.” You pull back and glare at him. “You know, if you subtract the time you were in the ice, we’re basically the same age.”_

_“Anyone who didn’t see Black Tuesday is a kid.” He rolls his eyes, stepping into your kitchen. “What kind of junk food do you have? We rely entirely on small, local markets now.”_

_“That depends on how long you’ve got.” You raise an eyebrow. “And if you’re going to start checking in more often.”_

_His smile falls. “Nat's got the quinjet running in the park around the corner. We can’t stay in the states long. I’m basically already out of time.”_

_You push past him and begin pulling boxes from your cabinets. “Nat's going to kill me when you hit this sugar high.”_

_“She’ll get over it,” he snorts, reaching for the desserts._

_You drop them into a grocery bag and pull it out of Steve’s reach. “Check. In. More.”_

_“I don’t ever know where we’re going to be.” He crosses his arms and plants his feet._

_“There are aid stations across the world.” You run your tongue across your teeth. “Pick literally any of them. Doesn’t even have to be Stark sponsored – in fact, it’s probably best if it’s not. That was the whole point of the code names.”_

_“They’ll know me.” He snatches for the bag._

_“Send Sam.” You yank your hand away and climb onto the counter. “No one knows him. Give the supervisor your code name and tell them I’ve been looking for you."_

_“Alright,” he whines. “Just gimme.”_

_“You know,” you let out a scoff, “you really put the four in a hundred and four.”_

_“I’m not even a hundred yet.” He rifles through the bag grinning. He looks back up, face softening. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”_

_“Yeah,” you breathe, “and if it wasn’t?”_

_Something glints in his eyes before his smile falls and sorrow washes over his features. “I guess we won’t know.”_

_“I’d like to think we will one day.” You reach for a Tupperware container on the counter and pass it to him. “Cake from Tony’s party. You should eat it soon though.”_

_“I really am sorry I’m late.” He glances down at the box, holding it tightly._

_“I know.” You rub his shoulder softly. “I miss you too.”_

_He looks up to meet your eyes, his face a breath away. “You know I miss you.”_

_You drag your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes darting to his lips. “You sure you have to go?”_

_His shoulders fall. “I really do.”_

_“Tony will probably drop in soon to top off my annual week from hell anyway.”_

_Steve snickers and turns to the door, smirking when you call him back. “I’ll watch out for them.”_

_“You left your hat. But take care of yourself too.” You grin, holding out a ballcap. “I’d like to see you again at some point.”_

_He takes his hat and brushes his thumb over your cheek. “I’d like to see you again too.”_

_“Does your team know?”_

_Steve drops his hand and turns the doorknob. “There’s nothing to know.”_

You wake up nauseous with a splitting headache and Steve’s arm draped over your stomach. You swallow your cotton mouth and wriggle silently out of the bed, eyeing Steve cautiously. When he groans and turns over, you let out a breath and grab your pants from the floor, dropping them when you notice the broken zipper and button. You sway when the room teeters and slide your bra on. Tiptoeing into the lounge, you snatch Steve’s shirt off the floor and shake the belt off his pants, wincing at the jangle.

“Jesus,” you breathe. “FRIDAY, will you schedule a cleaning service for today?”

The lounge is the epitome of a drunken one-night-stand. Your feet stick to the floor as you dodge the broken glass. Your shirt soaks up rum on the bar top, and you stumble over Steve’s boots as you scoop up your boat shoes. You snap Steve’s belt around the waist, cinching his shirt into a dress. Or, at least, covering all the important parts.

You enter the kitchen and stop short when Nat raises an eyebrow at you.

You clear your hoarse throat. “Girl to girl, can we pretend this didn’t happen?”

“He always had a soft spot for you.” She turns back to her cereal and waves down the hall. “You can borrow some of my clothes. Unless you just enjoy showing off your –”

“Thanks. I’ll look.” You scurry away, face flushing.

You pull on a pair of shorts and one of Nat’s low-cut tank tops before slipping into your own shoes. You leave Nat’s room and catch her voice trailing down the hall.

“She said she had a breakfast meeting.”

“She didn’t mention anything last night.” Steve’s unsteady voice is interrupted by the fridge closing.

“She doesn’t owe you an itinerary.” The annoyance in Nat’s voice is obvious. “I was hoping for a quiet breakfast.”

You take a deep breath and step timidly into the room. “Thanks, Nat.”

Steve shoots her a glare, and she shrugs it off before slinking out of the room.

“We need to talk.” He presses an ice pack to his temple.

You turn to the front door, shaking your head. “No, we don’t. We were drunk.”

“Please.” He dashes across the room and grabs your elbow. “There was more to it, and you know that.”

“There _was._ ” You pull away and open the front door. “There’s not anymore.”

“How can you say that now?” The ice pack crashes into the sink as he watches you leave. “We’ve barely given it a chance.”

You set your sights on your roommate’s car. “It was a drunken mistake, Steve. Nothing else.”

“You’re the one who always wanted to know ‘what if.’” He trails after you, his fingers skimming your hand. “This is it. No more Avengers, no more living underground, no more saving the world. This is our chance at what if – to find out where we really stand.”

You spin around, startling him back a step. “You never answered my calls.”

“What?”

“When hell broke loose. I called you over and over.” You pull your eyebrows together.

He suppresses a snort, dropping his hands at his sides. “I was a little busy.”

“I know.” You nod, your voice barely a whisper. “The world was ending, and you were too busy for me.”

“I wasn’t – I didn’t –” He drags his fingers through his hair. “I was –”

“Three days.” Despite your best efforts, your voice cracks.

His face goes blank. “What?”

“I called, and I called, and I worried, Steve.” Tears gather in the corners of your eyes. “People faded to ash, and it took you three days to call me.”

His nostrils flare, and his chest heaves. He clears his throat before speaking again. “I had a lot to figure out.”

“Clint answered on the fourth ring.” You lock eyes with him. “Pepper answered in less than five minutes. Happy made rounds within an hour. We were all scrambling. We made the time.”

“That’s not fair.” He drops his voice, looking at the ground. “I was responsible for my whole team.”

“You’re Captain America,” you nod softly, “and I never held that against you the entire time we were – well, whatever we were. I guess I just assumed when it mattered, I’d at least make your top ten priorities.”

He takes your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “We have a chance.”

“No, we don’t,” you let out a soft sigh. “One day, the world will need you again, and you’ll go. And I won’t sit on the sidelines waiting for a phone call that won’t come.”

“That won’t –”

“It will.” You drop his hand and cup his face gently. “I don’t need ‘what ifs’ anymore. I know exactly where I stand.”

With that, you say goodbye and kiss his cheek. He locks his jaw as you buckle in and fades away in the mirror as you drive off, gravel crunching under the tires.


End file.
